


look through the mind

by zvous



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Gen, Secret Solenoid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 08:13:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17260718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zvous/pseuds/zvous
Summary: Written for the prompt: "Drift gets a holoform, shenanigans ensue."





	look through the mind

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first work for secret solenoid, so i hope the recipient enjoys! 
> 
> a few notes:   
> \-- no set time, since everyone's aboard the lost light and swearth has already happened  
> \-- i used he/they pronouns for whirl because of his avatar  
> \-- i imagine the holoform customization screen is like a video game screen, and that rodimus et al went all out with it
> 
> title (fittingly) from the song Deadlock by Go! Child

The datapad clattered to the ground for the third time, and this time it elicited a reaction from across the room. 

 

“Ratchet,” First Aid called, “is everything alright? It’s not like you to drop things like that.” 

 

“Exactly. It’s not me, it’s these damn hands,” Ratchet replied, and stretched out the fingers. The orange-white paint was steady in its place, not flaking like it had the first few days. Now, the hand responded normally, digits moving when they should, when before they had suddenly gone lax, making him drop what he was holding. Ratchet knew, logically, that there was no way that Pharma had trapped his own hands, that sometimes transplants were rejected or took time to adjust, but  _ slag _ it sure felt like the bastard was somehow doing this just to spite him. 

 

First Aid peered at Ratchet over his vials. “Maybe you should take a break,” he said. “I think Swerve’s should be open now, if you wanted to take the rest of your shift off. We’re not exactly busy.” 

 

“You know I don’t like leaving the medbay understaffed.” 

 

“You  _ also _ know that we’re not anywhere we would be attacked, and in the case of an emergency I could comm you.” 

 

“I know.” Ratchet sighed. “Fine, I’ll take the evening off, but keep me updated.” He pushed his notes to the side and piled them into categories, hands cooperating all the way. 

  
  
  
  


 

Swerve’s wasn’t as busy as Ratchet had feared, early enough that the only a dozen or so mechs were present. Swerve greeted him when he walked in, and he made a beeline to the bar. 

 

“What bring you in so early, Ratchet? Couldn’t save somebody, so you’re drinking your sorrows away?” 

 

Ratchet didn’t bother to fake laugh. “Engex, don’t care what type, and make sure it’s a size bigger than what you last gave me.” 

 

Swerve’s jovial expression dropped. “Wait, nobody actually died, right?” 

 

Ratchet just rolled his optics and shook his head and waited for his drink amid Swerve’s chattering. It arrived, pink and bubbling and tall, and he sat back to look around the bar. A few of the bots from engineering were crowded around a booth off to the side, Rewind was working on some datapads a few tables away, and… 

 

...three humans sat on a table on the other side of the bar. 

 

Ratchet squinted at them,  _ certain _ that they hadn’t picked any humans up along the way, until he recognized the blue hair of one of them and the sheer amount of  _ orange  _ on the one waving at him. He sighed, took a swig of his drink, and made his way over. 

 

“Rodimus,” he said, looming over the table, “you’re looking small.” 

 

Rodimus grins up at him and shrugs. “It’s the new trend, what can I say. Good for keeping Whirl company while he’s under hab arrest again. And hey, check it! We got Drift an avatar earlier!” 

 

The third avatar, which Ratchet had entirely overlooked, shoots him a smile and raises his hand to extend two fingers in what Ratchet vaguely remembers from his days with Verity and Hunter as a “peace sign.” This one, whom Ratchet assumed had to be Drift, was almost easily overlooked compared to the others, adorned in loose-fitting white clothes with black and red accents, though he still had his sword, or at least a replica of it, strapped to his back. His medium-length black hair was slicked back, and he sat cross-legged between the other two. “Hey, Ratchet.” He gestured towards the tabletop at a handful of little cards and tokens scattered about. “Wanna join?”

 

Ratchet shifted his weight and placed his hand on the table. The cards, while perfectly sized for the avatars, were far too small for his own servos. “What are you playing?” 

 

“It was in one of Swerve’s Earth shows. It’s okay, I guess, but it’s  _ boring _ ,” Whirl complained, their chin resting in their hands. Only  _ slightly  _ less boring than sitting around doing absolutely nothing in my suite.” 

 

“What did you do this time?” Ratchet asked, figuring anything too bad would have been ship-wide news by now. 

 

“Kicked down a door. Within Magnus’ hearing,” Whirl huffed, drawing her finger through the pieces on the table. “That’s not even a bad crime! It was my own door!” 

 

“On  _ my _ ship!” Rodimus interjected.

 

“You don’t care!” 

 

“Yeah, but that counts as a bad crime to Magnus. Everything counts as a bad crime to him.” 

 

Ratchet allowed himself a grin. That would explain the tizzy Ultra Magnus had been in when he had stopped into the medbay earlier in the day for Megatron’s fuel. 

 

Whirl pushed their cards away and stood up. “Whatever. I’m gonna go make some stuff. Later.” And with the fritzing of energy, they were gone. 

 

“Uh,” Drift said, “anyone else concerned about what it is they’re making?” 

 

“Nah,” said Rodimus, already shuffling their cards back into the deck. “So, Ratchet, want to take their spot? I’ll deal you in.” 

 

Ratchet pointed at the cards. “I hope you mean with Cybertronian cards this time.” 

 

“Why don’t you get your avatar, Ratch?” Drift questioned. “Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen it.” 

 

Ratchet scoffed. “Of course not. There’s no reason for us to look human now that the whole ‘Swearth’ fiasco is in the past.”

 

“But why not? The new program that Brainstorm created is fascinating, how it can read your sparkwaves and accept input to create a human avatar that looks just like how your spark wants to look!” 

 

“Oh, wow, that’s impressive,” Ratchet intoned sarcastically. “you know, back on Earth, we would just scan a nearby human and their vehicle and assume that appearance. Say, Rodimus, didn’t you have a different one before this?” 

 

He winced. “Don’t remind me.” 

 

“Anyways, the old ones only had the one expression. They were fine for convincing humans that we were vehicles with drivers and nothing more, but they’re just not needed now.” 

 

“Hold up!” Rodimus adds. “Are you saying we shouldn’t use the new technology we have to further our stealth capabilities? This just in: Ratchet hates Science!” 

 

“Shut up,” Ratchet managed between Drift’s laughter. “Besides, if it’s Brainstorm’s tech, do we really  _ need _ it?” 

 

“No, of course we don’t, but they’re fun!” Drift grabbed Rodimus’ shoulder. “Do you wanna go get him a new avatar?” 

 

“Sure! I’ve got nothing better to do.” Rodimus agreed. 

 

Ratchet glared. “You have a  _ ship _ to run, I shouldn’t have to remind you of that!” 

 

“Ehh, Megs has the con and Mags is on shift. It’s fine.” By then, without any agreement or cooperation from Ratchet, Drift had already gotten up and flipped his way up Ratchet’s arm to sit on his shoulder and grin cheekily at him. Rodimus mirrored his expression and fritzed out from the table and back in on Ratchet’s other shoulder. “Onwards to the lab!” He exclaimed. 

 

Ratchet sighed again. He knew when to accept defeat.

  
  
  
  


 

“Brainstorm! We’re back!” Rodimus sing-songed (loudly, and right next to Ratchet’s audial, too) as they entered the lab. 

 

The engineer had one of his servos buried in a mass of parts, the other carefully balancing an open container of…..  _ something _ . He fished around in the bin some more, eventually emerging with a tube of what looked to be powder. His wings tilted upwards in excitement. “Right, Rodimus, what was that?” 

 

“Can we use the holomatter-avatar-creator creator? Ratchet here hasn’t had his updated.” 

 

Brainstorm was already busy reading the label on the tube. “Sure, sure, go ahead. You know the controls. Give a shout if it, like, absorbs you or anything.” 

 

Ratchet reset his audials. “Wait, abso--” 

 

“Got it!” Rodimus chirped, and Drift pointed towards the large structure in the corner. 

 

Ratchet made his way over amid the piles of  _ surely _ unsafe debris on the ground, enviously eyeing Perceptor’s well-organized half of the room all the way. “It’s interesting, look,” Rodimus said as he shifted his avatar again to stand atop what Ratchet assumed was the control console. He pointed over to a handheld scanner of some sort lying on the bench. “Grab that.” 

 

“That’s what you scan your spark with,” Drift added, still unmoved from Ratchet’s shoulder. He rested against his helm to watch him pick it up. “Lay it against your frame above the spark, it’ll gather the information it needs.” Ratchet watched out of the corner of his optic has he tapped a finger against his chin in thought. “I guess it read’s your spark’s aura. I hadn’t thought of it like that before.” 

 

Ratchet chuckles. “Then surely it can’t be that accurate.” He saw rather than felt the elbow to his helm, and he turned his head away good naturedly. “All right. I’ll give this nonsense a try. Doesn’t look like it’ll do any harm.” He pressed it to his chassis, digit over the button helpfully labelled, in Brainstorm’s writing,  **PRESS TO SCAN** . The fact that Brainstorm was involved in its construction at all still made him weary, but if it interfered with the ‘aura,’ or whatever, and Drift trusted it, he supposed he would, as well. He pressed the button, managed not to flinch, and the console’s display lit up. 

 

“Ouch,” Rodimus said, looking at the display of Ratchet’s old avatar. “Not the best design there, Ratchet.” 

 

“Roddy, don’t be mean. That’s just a human person from Earth that he scanned. He can’t help it if he’s plain.” Drift chastised. 

 

Ratchet still didn’t see anything wrong with his old avatar. Sure, the permanent smile was… unsettling, to say the least, but he had worn the uniform of Earth medics. If the scan decided that this was still suitable, he was fine with it. “So does it update itself?” Ratchet asks, brushing Rodimus aside to tap at the display. 

 

“Mine did,” Rodimus says. “Maybe yours is just that boring dude.” 

 

“Rodimus!” 

 

“What! It doesn’t even have his colour scheme.” 

 

The customization screen was fairly simple, a few sliders and palettes. As the other two bantered around him, Ratchet switched the clothing colours to orange and white and grey, a noticeably more modest look than Rodimus’. He also changed his hair to grey, knowing that particular shade to often be an indication of age in humans, and from the way his hands had been aching today, he certainly felt as such. A few more changes to the face and he was satisfied with his work. “Remind me how to materialize it?” 

 

Rodimus glanced at the screen. “At least the colours are better. You sure you don’t want it any brighter?” 

 

“Quite.” 

 

“I think he looks nice,” Drift remarked, patting Ratchet’s shoulder. Just download the new file and it should show up the next time you project.” 

 

“Great, let’s get back to our game!” Rodimus clapped his hands and fritzed back out, presumably to the bar. 

 

“You will join us now, yes?” Drift asked, standing up and stretching. 

 

“Yeah, yeah. See you in bit.” 

 

Drift shot him a smile and disappeared. 

 

Ratchet finished downloading the updated form and made his way out of the lab, Brainstorm’s container now bubbling and making worrisome crackling noises. He dutifully ignored it, made his way back to his hab, lay down to recharge, and sent his holomatter information to the projectors in the bar. 

 

Drift and Rodimus had already set up the game for the next round, tokens more organized than before, and Drift was shuffling the cards when he arrived. It was strange, to be in this form after a few years, and to be able to express his scowls and eyerolls this time, but his hands, human as they were, were something he had made, and they didn’t twitch or ache. The other two laughed at his grumbling and dealt him a hand. 


End file.
